Harry's fingers traced the long tubing extending from his chest down his ribcage where it looped, held there by a dressing to keep the three lumens secure as all thought of needing his glasses went out the door. He had seen enough. "Take it out!" Harry screamed, resisting the urge to pull out the repulsive accessory himself, but just barely.

"Harry," Snape soothed, grabbing his hands, holding them tight within his own.

"Take it out!" he screamed again as he tried to pull his hands free. Harry had to get that thing out of him. It couldn't be there; it couldn't be true. It had to be a nightmare. He couldn't really have cancer!

"Harry, calm down," Snape said, his voice steady without a hint of panic. 

"No!" Harry gasped in between heavy shallow breaths. He ripped his hands away from his professor, and slid off the other side of the bed, backing into the corner until he hit the wall. "I can't! This can't be happening!"

"I assure you this is not a nightmare," the Potions Master said patting the bed beside him. "Come sit down."

"No! You're lying! You can't fool me again, Voldemort. I won't fall for it!" It was just like Voldemort to lure him into a sense of false security only to prey on him once Harry submitted to the plan. He cursed himself for the millionth time over not taking Occlumency lessons seriously. Harry didn't know how to fight his way out of the trap except for holding on until Voldemort got sick of invading his mind and left.

"Harry, it's not a trick," Snape said, inching towards him. "This is real."

"No, it's not! I can't have cancer! Wizards don't have Muggle diseases!" Harry reasoned stomping his foot on the hard stone floor, his hands balled into fists at his side.

Snape slid closer to him, too close for Harry's comfort.

"Get away from me!" Harry warned as his nails dug further into his fists.

"No," Severus responded, stepping closer to reach out to him.

"Go away!" Harry screamed. "Get away from me if you won't take this bloody thing out of me now, you bastard!"

"No, I will not, Mr. Potter," Snape stated firmly.

Harry screamed, charging the man in front of him. Pushing Snape out of the way, Harry slipped past him, running towards his nightstand to slam his glasses onto his face and point his wand at his professor. "Get out!" he threatened.

"Harry," Snape soothed, holding his hands up. "Put your wand down."

"You can't tell me what to do! I said get out!" Flicking his wand, Harry had a multitude of curses and hexes at the tip of his tongue, prepared to force Snape to exit his room.

"Potter, put your wand down this instant!" Snape demanded but never reached for his own wand. Just like Voldemort wouldn't, not at this early stage of a battle.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled. His magic had to work; it was the key to getting out of the nightmare. He had to fight; his own magic would protect him. It never failed to protect him yet.

Until now.

"Stupefy!" Harry tried again, willing his magic through his wand, desperate to stun his professor. Still nothing, not even the faintest spark.

"Put down your wand," Snape whispered in his ear from behind him, his hand resting on Harry's right forearm. Harry jumped, spinning around to face the Potions Master, his wand poking Snape in the chest. When had his professor moved?

"Go away," Harry insisted, his voice cracking as he pressed his wand into Snape's chest.

"No, Harry. I'm staying right here," Snape whispered, his breath tickling Harry's ear as Harry felt warm arms wrap around him and pull him close.

It wasn't possible to completely feel warmth in dreams...

"I really have cancer? This is real?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer. He was just barely holding on. He could handle battling Voldemort, he had grown up getting used to the idea. But this, it was the unknown, a red herring thrown into the chaos his life already was.

"Yes."

Harry's heart stopped. No. But yet he had known it all along. He let out a gut-wrenching sob as his knees buckled underneath him, but he didn't fall. Snape caught him as reality set it.

It was real. He had bloody cancer! That thing sticking out of him proved it. Harry had tried so hard to convince himself that he was fine, that Sirius wasn't dead, that a prophecy didn't dictate his life.

Sobbing harder, he pounded his fists against Snape's chest. He no longer cared that tears cascaded down his cheeks in front of his once most hated professor. It wasn't fair. Everything bad happened to him, never to anyone else.

"Shh," Snape shushed him as his hand reached up to cup the back of Harry's head, directing his head to rest against Snape's shoulder and the soft robes that covered it.

"Why me?" Harry choked out between sobs, seizing the front of Snape's robes to anchor himself in reality. He needed contact, a reminder he was alive and that someone cared what happened to him.

"Because you're a fighter, and you'll beat this Harry," Snape stated as he rubbed small circles in the middle of Harry's bony back.

"I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of people dying," he cried leaning his slight weight completely into Snape. "I just want to be normal."

It was all Harry ever wanted. Since he was three years old, he knew he wasn't normal. Aunt Petunia has taken Dudley and him to the local park and while his aunt watched Dudley every second to make sure he didn't fall as he played with the other kids, Harry was already an outcast, dressed in Dudley's stained clothes and a diaper that was too big and slid down every time he moved. Harry was left to play by himself, unwatched until he had slipped off the playground while trying to reach for the monkey bars and broke his wrist. Aunt Petunia had only walked over to him once the other mothers glared at her, and they left the park never to return. It wasn't until Harry kept his relatives up the whole night with his cries of pain that Uncle Vernon barked to Aunt Petunia to take the freak to the doctor. That freak was him.

"Fight to live, and you can be normal," Snape said bringing Harry back to the present where he was still somewhat of a freak. Normal things happened to normal people, and Harry was anything but normal. This was just another example of the freakishness in his life.

"No, I can't. I have to kill him." It was always at the back of his mind. One day he had to murder someone, kill a living being that could think and reason. Despite Voldemort's evilness, the megalomaniac was still a person, and Harry didn't know if could ever take another person's life, even if that person was determined to kill him.

"No, you don't," Snape insisted.

"Yes, I do. The prophecy-"

"Forget the prophecy. It's none of your concern," the Potions Master cut him off as he held him closer, keeping him warm from the chill of the dungeons.

"But-"

"No buts," Snape ordered. "Prophecy is rubbish and inaccurate at best."

"Voldemort," the Potions Master stiffened around him, "will come after me, and I can't even cast a Stupefy."

"You're safe here."

"What if he gets into the castle?" Harry asked, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes that refused to stop falling.

"I'll protect you. You're not alone," Snape promised.

"But I am. Sirius...he..."

"Died, yes."

"Sirius," Harry wailed, dammed up grief flooding through him. His godfather was gone, dead before Harry really ever got to know him, before Sirius could rescue him from the hell that was the Dursleys, and he wasn't coming back. With Sirius, he had a chance for a family, someone that wanted him. But now he was faced with cancer without Sirius.

Harry didn't doubt Snape wouldn't put up with him for long. No one ever did. Then where'd he go? Back to the Dursleys where they'd lock him in his cupboard until he died a painful death? 

"You're not alone," Severus repeated.

"Then why do I feel like I am?" he wondered out loud, burying his head into Snape's shoulder.

"I'm here, Harry," Snape whispered, his voice sounding weird and foreign to Harry's ear.

"You never were before. You hated me!" the Gryffindor accused pushing away from his professor. His legs felt like jelly, and it was a struggle to stay upright on his feet, but he would endure. He always made it by himself before, and he could do it again. He had to. Harry didn't trust anyone but himself.

"That was before," Snape admitted as he reached out to steady Harry.

The Gryffindor backpedaled as realization set in. "Great, so now I'm the sick cancer kid that everyone feels sorry for! That's why you're here isn't it?"

It was one more reason for people to treat him specially. Harry hated it.

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Snape corrected allowing Harry his space for the moment.

"Then what was?" he asked as he held onto the foot of his bed to keep himself from falling. His body refused to cooperate with him, to allow him to stand tall and show that he was strong and wasn't intimidated by his professor.

"Before I realized you were Lily's son, not James junior," the Slytherin whispered, pausing at Lily's name.

"I'm just Harry. I never knew my parents!" Harry cried tired of everyone expecting him to be like his parents. He threw his arms to the side in frustration as he forgot how much he needed the footboard's support to keep upright.

"I know that now," Snape affirmed catching Harry before he fell and coaxed him into leaning against his chest.

"And you don't hate me?" Harry asked, his voice small and childlike from the folds of Snape's robes, next to a tear-stained puddle.

"No."

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

"Why?" Snape cupped his jaw with one hand, forcing him to look into his professor's obsidian eyes, eyes that normally masked all emotion, but today held a tumultuous sea of sadness and determination.

"Because I hate being me," Harry admitted as he averted his eyes to the floor. He had always hinted at it, sometimes joked he hated his life, but never had Harry admitted to hating being Harry Potter with conviction behind his words. He never wanted the fame, attention, or special treatment.

"You shouldn't," the Potions Master said stiffening at Harry's confession.

"I can't help it," Harry cried. "Everyone acts like I'm some public property they can touch and discuss, like I'm not a real person. They expect me to be some hero that'll save them all. I can't, I can't be that person." He moved closer to Snape, resting against the man whose arms were the only thing holding him up.

Harry was tired of being the hero. He was sick of it before, but now with Cedric's and Sirius' death, Harry wanted to run away and escape to a place where Harry Potter meant nothing more than a teenager who struggled with Potions and excelled at quidditch and Defense. He yearned for a childhood.

"You don't have to be," Snape offered.

"No one will leave me alone," he pointed out with a shiver. "I don't choose to seek reporters out."

"Ignore them," the Potions Master suggested as he draped one side of his outer robe over Harry.

"They'll print horrible things about me like they think I don't have feelings. I do," the Gryffindor insisted. It's what everyone forgot. They never asked how he was for the sake of wanting to know. They just had to be sure he was okay to face the next obstacle in getting rid of Voldemort.

"Harry, what are you feeling right now?" Severus whispered.

"Terrified," Harry confessed closing his watery eyes as he choked back yet another sob. "I'm so scared. You keep telling me I won't die, but everyone else is acting like I will. I don't want to die."

"You won't," Snape insisted, tightening his hold on him.

"But what if I do? What if the chemo doesn't work?" Harry wasn't sure he wanted the answer. So far they kept telling him that chemo was the only option and with the talk about remissions it sounded like chemo didn't always work.

"Then you'll have a bone marrow transplant," the Professor informed him.

"What's that?" It sounded scary and painful. He gulped wanting nothing to do with bone marrow procedures of any kind.

"Someone who matches your blood and magic types donates some of their bone marrow to give you, which in turn will wipe out your immune system and replace it with theirs," Severus explained.

"What happens if a match can't be found?" Harry questioned, fear evident in his voice. It sounded like a match had something to do with a person's genes, and he knew from Muggle primary that a person's genes came from their parents, something Harry didn't have, nor did he have an abundance of relatives, or any unless you counted the Dursleys, which he didn't like to count.

"Then we'll look for a match with the Muggles," Snape said, determined. "Harry, we'll find a match if I have to invent a potion to make it happen."

"What happens to my magic then? With a Muggle match?" he clarified.

"It's possible you could become a squib," the Potions Master laid out the worst-case scenario, "but that's better than dying."

"I could lose my magic?" Harry cried, his stream of tears endless. "Professor, I can't. I don't fit in with Muggles."

"Your friends wouldn't abandon you, and you wouldn't have to live in the Muggle world," Snape assured him, beginning to rub small circles on his back again. Harry pressed back against his professor's fingers. He was stiff and sore, and Snape's ministrations were making a world of difference on his back muscles.

"But I'd be different." Harry wanted to be normal, not even more different from his friends than he already was.

"The amount of magic you have doesn't change who you are as a person. You'd still be Harry," Snape lectured as his calloused fingers found a large knot in Harry's back.

"I still don't want to lose my magic," Harry said through gritted teeth. The knot hurt, but in a good way, and Harry forced himself to endure it knowing it would feel better once Snape worked out the knot.

"It's only if we have to pursue that road, and it's not guaranteed that'd you'd be turned into a squib if it's necessary," Snape informed him, lightening his touch.

"And if that doesn't work?" he whispered breathing in the comforting minty smell that emanated from his professor's robes.

Harry was too young to die. He just couldn't, not yet.

"I won't let you die," Snape declared, stopping his ministrations to ensure Harry got the message.

"And what if I survive-"

"When you survive this," Snape corrected.

"When I survive this, what if after that Voldemort kills me anyway? Is all this stuff worth it? Chemo sounds horrible. I want to live, not just survive," Harry rambled trying to regain control over his emotions by lifting his head from the fold of Snape's robes and wiping his eyes with his arm while he sniffled. 

"Harry, you can't think that way," the Potions Master admonished.

"But it's true," Harry cried, so much for regaining control of his emotions. "Voldemort will be after me until I or someone else kills him. I want to travel. I want to swim in the ocean, and I want to finish school just like every other kid."

"You will," Severus promised as he brought Harry's head to rest against his heart where Harry listened to the steady beating of his professor's heart, a sign of life.

"You can't guarantee that. No one can, and I've never gotten to live, to experience normal things. If I have to die, I want to know what I'm missing first," he whispered wondering if he'd ever feel truly safe. Voldemort or a Death Eater encounter was always just around the corner, and before that it was his relatives. 

"Harry, fight to survive, and I promise to help you live."

"Really?" Harry asked surprised and hopeful at the same time.

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "My parents have a beach house in the States. I'm more than sure they wouldn't mind you visiting. Doesn't that qualify for two things you listed off?"

"But you'll grow tired of me before then." It always happened. Never once had anyone kept him for a long period of time because they wanted to. Well, except for his parents, but there was no chance his mum or dad would come back from the dead. Death was final.

"I'm not going to kick you out, or ship you off somewhere," Severus promised.

"You say that now when I still feel okay. What happens when I get really sick and you get tired of taking care of me?" Harry cried, tired of empty promises. Adults always promised him things that they never followed through on like living with Sirius.

"I knew what I was getting into when I agreed for you to stay here," Snape said brushing away one of Harry's tears from his cheek. "I repeat I won't kick you out, not even if I have to carry you if you get too weak to get out of bed yourself."

"That could happen?" Harry gulped, his fear returning.

"It's likely you'll have a few days like that, yes."

"I'm going to get really sick, aren't I?" He shivered at the thought of being so sick.

"Yes," his professor confirmed.

"I...sir...I," Harry choked on his words, his voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

"Stop talking, Harry. It's okay." Harry nodded, tears continuing to slip from his eyes. The Potions Master scooped him up off his feet, carrying him back to bed. He hung on tight, not wanting to let go. Snape laid him down, but Harry refused to give up his grip on Snape's robes. "Let go."

"No," Harry shook his head.

"Just for a minute."

"I can't," Harry whispered. Snape was keeping him sane.

The Slytherin pried Harry's fingers off his robes before scooting back out of reach to take off his boots and slip off his tear-stained robes to be left in black trousers, white oxford, and black waistcoat. "Scoot over."

Surprised through his tears, Harry scooted over to allow Snape room to sit down. The Potions Master sat against the headboard, his long legs extended out in front of him. He placed a pillow on his lap, patting it. "You should be lying down."

Immediately, Harry scooted back over to his professor, laying his head on the nice fluffy pillow, facing away from Snape. He felt his comforter being pulled up around him before one of Snape's long-fingered hands started carding through his hair.

"Try to calm down now," Severus whispered. Harry let out a choked sob. No one had comforted him like this before. Mrs. Weasley after the Triwizard Tournament was close, but this was so much better. Looking back on it, she had needed comforting at the same time she was comforting him, but Snape...Severus was in control, and dare he say it, made him feel safe?

Harry cried until he was sure his tear ducts were dried out. As the last tear slid onto his pillow, Harry felt lighter. He never knew bawling his eyes out could help so much. Facing cancer didn't seem quite so daunting anymore, not as long as Snape was there to help him, like he was helping him now.

Not once while Harry cried had Snape stopped carding his fingers through Harry's hair. Even now, Severus continued the soothing motion while Harry lay still, relishing in the feeling of being taken care of and comforted. Closing his eyes, Harry memorized the warm feeling that traveled through his body, wrapping around every inch of him. He never wanted that feeling to go away.

But, Harry rarely got what he wanted. "Sir," he warned feeling bile climbing up his throat at an alarming speed. "I think..." Harry scrambled to his knees, crawling just far enough in time to vomit over the side of his bed.

Collapsing back into his previous position, Harry wondered when he started feeling so miserable. His head pounded, and he was so nauseous he was afraid to move, not to mention pain where they inserted that thing. Had he been ignoring it subconsciously, or had all of the symptoms come on suddenly?

"Harry?" Snape asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Miserable," Harry grunted, closing his eyes against the offending light. "I'm nauseous, and I have a headache...and it hurts."

"Roll over, and I'll go get you medication," Snape patted his shoulder.

"Please, don't make me move," he begged. If he had to move, he knew he'd throw up again.

"All right," Severus conceded. Harry heard Snape summon a couple pill bottles. "You need to sit up to take these."

Harry gulped. Maybe if he were quick enough he could make it? Deciding the pills were worth the risk, Harry sat up, took the pills out of Snape's hand and the glass of water out of the other, swallowed them quickly, and returned to his position just as another wave of nausea assaulted him.

"Close your eyes and relax," the Potions Master told him, his hand returning to Harry's hair. "It'll pass."

Harry did just that, not quite drifting into dreams until the medications started kicking in, and he felt like he could move without fighting back nausea.